The air is grey, the ground is cold and wet.
The branches shaken hard by winter wind.
In darkness, forests wait for daylight yet.
The shadows hide a frozen hand and mind.
I still miss those gardens and their childish plays.
At that time, we loved to sit and talk;
the ornaments covered the table and lit our days.
We enjoyed the warmth of the house before the walk.
The rooms are prepared in the house just for us.
I feel something coming from the dark
I see a hug in the mirror and turn into dust.
I have nothing left of it but this scar.
It is time to leave all sense and reason;
to lie with what we know are lies and treason.
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